


My Love and My Chagrin, The Violin

by mimolesinge



Category: Timothy Goes to School (Cartoon)
Genre: Adorable, Adventure, Aged-Up Character(s), Animation, Ballet, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Classical Music, Coming of Age, Cute, Dancing and Singing, Dessert & Sweets, English, Family, Feels, Fluff, Food, Français | French, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Italiano | Italian, Japanese, Music, My First Fanfic, Nikolai Tchaikovsky, Nostalgia, Old School, One Shot, Origami, Personal Growth, Picnics, Post-Canon, Sweet, Teenagers, Violins, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 13:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimolesinge/pseuds/mimolesinge
Summary: Years after the Music Tree episode, history repeats itself when a teenage Yoko finds herself apprehensive over the possibility of becoming a violin teacher.





	My Love and My Chagrin, The Violin

**Author's Note:**

> Being primarily a non-fiction writer, this is my first real delve into fictional writing – that includes fan fiction! I’ve written poetry and creative pieces before, but not straight fictional narratives until now, so giving this a try has definitely been an interesting experience for me. I don’t know if I’ll continue writing stories on this site, but I’m eager to receive feedback that will definitely be useful in all my future endeavours. Thank you for reading and I look forward to your comments! 
> 
> Fun fact: I was originally going to write a regular blog post about my struggles with starting to play the violin again after so many years, but then decided to take the opportunity and channel those emotions through this story instead.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any part of Timothy Goes To School, Dmitri Kabalevsky’s Concerto in C Major, or any other referenced historical figures, only this not-for-profit fan fiction.

When the waves of fervour come crashing in, there’s no stopping them until harmony makes its greeting and offers them a place on the golden shore to settle as warm, soothing foam.

That is the solace of Dmitri Kabalevsky’s "Concerto in C Major", which couldn’t have been a more fitting piece for this particular occasion. Dust particles bounce to the rhythm as I pluck the strings of my violin, and with every pizzicato I feel the weight of doubt lifting itself up from my cozy little home studio that also serves as my bedroom.

Of course, when a moment is too good to be true, there’s nothing else but me to stand in my own way.

It doesn’t take long for the dust to slowly begin collecting atop my beloved instrument again. Everything becomes static, and the spark that made the dust dance is now replaced with rattling nerves.

I can’t count how many times looming thoughts have been disrupting my practice today; to make matters worse, it’s happening the day before I find out whether I’ll become a certified violin teacher.

This is the second time in my life I’ve ever felt nervous about my musical capabilities since I performed in front of the Music Tree at Hilltop School over a decade ago. Back then, I was worried about moving an audience; but now, the idea that young, aspiring violinists will depend on me for support and inspiration completely overwhelms me.

My violin has been with me through it all, even if we don’t always agree. When I’m confident, it sings. When I’m careless, it shrieks. Sometimes, it supports me; other times, it betrays me. But it is always honest, regardless of its aim, as it opens the window to my heart for the rest of the world to grasp.

Am I ready for the next great responsibility that such exposure entails?

I think about Mrs. Jenkins, my old kindergarten teacher at Hilltop. She’s long retired, but I’ve been keeping in touch with her over the years. I’ve always known I wanted to become a teacher myself, and it’s all thanks to her unfailing wisdom that is kind, but never too giving.

I know Mrs. Jenkins wouldn’t want to feel as though she’s meddling in my self-discovery; besides, the amount of angst as evidenced by my recent letters to her do unfurl a twinge of guilt in me. Undoing bad habits would undoubtedly be a good idea, so I’ll save my stationery for once.

How relieved my wallet will be, for a change. All these years I’ve felt guilty about Mama paying so much money for my violin lessons; when I was 13, I had to convince her to let me work part-time at a nearby sushi café, even though I already started booking performances at weddings, and help pay for tuition at the Blythe Academy for music.

It’s been the least I could do. But before I’m able to let this ship of thought sink down even further in my stomach, I hear the telephone ring downstairs.

Perhaps a change of pace could be a phone call away.

...

Mama, who was in the kitchen when I came up to practice this morning, is quick to answer. “Hello? Why yes, Grace! How are rehearsals coming along, dear? That’s wonderful; Yoko and I are looking forward to the recital. Of course, she’ll be down. Please join us for tea once everything’s back to normal. Good luck!”

There’s no need for her to call out. “I’m coming, Mama!”

I don’t keep her waiting, either. If there’s anything junior ballet classes with my longtime friend Grace taught me, it’s to swiftly prance down the stairs without incident.

With one of her usual, affectionate smiles, Mama hands me the phone before going back to the kitchen. “Here you go, cherry blossom.”

“Thank you, Mama,” I accept it graciously, returning the smile, and then turn my attention to my caller. “Hi Grace! I’m so glad you called. It’s almost been a week and I’ve practically forgotten what outside contact feels like.”

“Indeed! I suppose it’s par for the course in the world of high art. But yes, I’ve missed your lovely face this week as well.”

Another dear friend once similarly told me how they’d miss spending time together after a busy week, complete with a beautiful bouquet and the warmest of hugs.

My smile grows wider as I answer. “All the more reason to enjoy what time we’re able to give to one another. Our schedules won’t get any less demanding from here on out.”

“Which is why I rang,” Grace interjects. “I’ve got about an hour or so to myself before I have to help set up at the theatre for our last rehearsal tomorrow. And evidently, it’s my duty to finally get you out of the house and relax before your final exam!”

“All this practicing has, fortunately for you, exhausted my argumentation skills. What did you have in mind?” I ask after jokingly heaving a sigh.

“Why don’t we meet at your sushi place for tea? That’s convenient enough.”

Actually, I must object to this one. “My next shift isn’t until Saturday morning, and I can’t have my manager believing I don’t have other places to recreate in.”

She laughs. “Considering your dedicative tendencies, it’s just as well. How about the patisserie near our old ballet studio?”

“It’s a date! I can be there in 10-15 minutes if I ride my bicycle. See you then!” I say before hanging up the phone.

A relaxed afternoon calls for relaxed clothing. I only now realize just how muggy I feel in my pink nightgown. How could I not, with its flounce neck and bishop sleeves, never mind that spring has arrived?

Time to swap it for something with a little more breathing room. Amused, I find myself dancing on tiptoe back up the stairs and toward my bedroom closet. It doesn’t take much rummaging to find my yellow circle skirt and red, short-sleeved blouse.

...

While I finish fixing my collar, I glance at my violin and bow that I had set on my bed before going downstairs, then at my stand, reminiscent of a flower with sheet music and exercises positioned every which way.

I should clean up a bit before I leave. I’d certainly try practicing again when I come home, but I don’t want to leave Mama responsible for my things. Emptying the bed, I loosen my bow and return it with my violin to their places in my case.

I turn the bow holder and close the case without zipping it shut. Next, I straighten all my papers and file them neatly in a folder on my stand.

That’s better; all I need now is my satchel bag. After quickly surveying the room – making sure it’s neat in the process – I see the bag hooked on my door rack, just as I had left it yesterday. On my way out, I delicately place it over my shoulder; quickly check inside for my things, and go to meet Mama downstairs.

The air smells of a wonderfully soft, creamy vanilla as I descend – I wonder what she’s baking?

Mama must’ve heard me making my way down; I see her emerging out of the kitchen, though there is a curious glint in her eye I’d never seen before.

“Do you have everything you need before you leave?” she inquires, clearly having paid attention to our conversation. She notices the puzzled look on my face and adds, “Her call is a blessing, sweet blossom; I was hoping you’d see your friends before your big day to preserve your positive energy.”

Realization dawns upon me. “You’ve been listening to me play, even when there was no sound...”

“As I always do,” Mama responds, her face now earnest. “Yoko, I know how seriously you’ve been taking this process from your very first examination. However, you haven’t noticed your violin’s silent weeping lately, so your heart cannot be open to change.”

I feel my own face falling. “That’s what I’m worried about. Even if I pass, I don’t know what kind of teacher I’ll be like to my students. What if I forget something, or am too impatient, or boring-“

“Let me ask you this,” Mama interrupts, and I’m grateful for it. “Do you remember your very first day of kindergarten?”

I don’t answer right away, as her question confuses me, but I soon relax as I reminisce about the day that changed everything for me. “I was so scared to let you leave. But I ended up having such a good time that you didn’t need to stay any longer.”

Slightly turning her head to one side, Mama raises her eyebrows. “And did you worry about what the other children would think of you when you started making friends with them?”

“No....” I reply softly, my eyes cast downward.

“You’ll see Grace soon. Are you nervous to speak with her at all?” She continues, now smiling.

I look back up at her and laugh, finding the very thought to be absurd. “Of course not! We know each other so well. There’s no reason to be.”

Still smiling, Mama closes her eyes and places her hands on her hips, shrugging as if she’s made a point. “Don’t be late now.”

I make to open our front door, but not before shaking my head. “Oh, and to answer your question: I haven’t forgotten anything. My bag and I are ready for an adventure.”

Joyous avian melodies and fresh plum blossoms inspire a dainty skip in my step out the door. My, what a glorious day it is.

“By the way Mama, what are you baking today?” I suddenly ask in spite of myself. “Something smelled amazing when I came downstairs.”

“That, my darling, is a surprise for when you return. Now what was that about forgetting things?” There is that playful tone again.

It takes two to tango, as they say. “Well it’s not much of a surprise anymore. At least I know there’s vanilla in it.”

With that, I cheerfully stick out my tongue, exchange “I love yous”, and dash off to the garage in search of my bike and protective gear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mama still in the foyer, heading toward where the phone is instead of the kitchen, but pay no mind. Teatime awaits me!

...

The ride down memory lane brings a fond smile to my lips. It has been years since I last traversed this quaint part of town; the patisserie was always a treat for Grace and myself after every ballet class, and considering all our hard work recently I’d say we earned a delightful taste of nostalgia.

Still, I’m eager to see what’s changed, even if I’m hoping for at least some familiarity.

Closing in, I spot the first change: a shiny new bike rack near the building. Grace isn’t here yet, so I can take my time settling in.

I dismount my bike and walk up to the rack, locking it together with my helmet. I’m grateful that my bag is large enough to carry my pads, so all I’d need to do is place my bag in the seat next to me at the patisserie.

Once I hear a “yoo-hoo!” behind me, I know for certain that all is going according to plan.

I recognize that euphonious voice from anywhere. Spinning around, I respond by beaming at its owner. “Grace! You always how to lift my spirits.”

Grace giggles, tilting her head and bringing her fingers to her décolletage. “I do tend to have that effect on others, don’t I?”

I take a good look at her as she makes her way over with ladylike charm, head high and back straight. She’s always been beautiful, but her blue jumpsuit and white sunhat that match her topaz eyes unveil an especial polish to her appearance today that simply commands attention.

After telling her so, I hold out a bent arm. “Shall we?”

She links her arm with mine. “But of course!”

The moment we enter I’m instantly captivated by the homely scents of éclairs and croissants. “The child in me is singing, Grace. This takes me right back to our days of arabesques and promenades – well, after all that, anyway.” I chuckle gratefully.

Grace points a finger upward, her expression lightened. “You may also be pleased to learn that new teas have been added to the menu. What do you say we order one for the table when we’re seated?”

“I can hardly argue with that.”

Happily, we claim a spot out on the terrace where we used to sit with our mothers whenever it was warm. Taking our seats across from each other, I drop my bag on the neighbouring seat and we each hold one end of the menu so we could both browse.

Grace recommends linden tea to help put my mind at ease for tomorrow. I turn around in search for a server, but then feel a tug on my arm.

“Wait, we still need to select something sweet – you know, for balance.” Her justification is answered by my gentle snort.

Nevertheless, my lips purse instinctively. “Mama is baking me a surprise...”

“Come now, think of this as your pre-celebratory treat.” I give her a look. “Well, why don’t we at least order some macaroons? Those are light on the tummy.”

My hands are up. “Very well. After all, what’s a party without delight?”

...

I can tell Grace is trying to ease me into the inevitable conversation when she tells me about how our old classmate Doris has been her substitute at work this week while she prepares for her recital.

They’re both figure skating instructors, and like me, Grace uses those earnings to help fund her tuition at the Princeton Academy for dance. Much like Blythe’s music program, however, Princeton’s dance program is an intensive one, so Grace is willing to sacrifice the extra pay from time to time out of devotion to her sponsored performances.

“I’m so lucky that Doris is as optimistic and reliable as she is. I know that it can be overwhelming, but she’s developed closer bonds than ever with the children and is learning about patience,” she enthuses.

I take a sip of my tea to try and calm the pang in my heart. “Isn’t she ever worried that she’ll break their trust, or run out of ways to keep them interested?”

Grace crosses her arms. “Well Yoko, if she wants to become a traffic officer, she needs to cultivate her mental fortitude and empathy at a younger age. She can’t exactly afford to compromise a good opportunity with such thoughts. Surely, knowing your ethic, you’re inclined to agree.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” I confess, staring wistfully into my teacup. “My heart isn’t open to change; Mama told me as much just before I left the house. The problem is that I can’t control the unexpected.”

Her body relaxes. She leans in and puts her hands on the table. “Maybe not, but you can control how you respond to it.” Sighing, she continues. “Yoko, you’ve been nervous about the last step since the beginning. You care about the results. It’s understandable...”

“But?” I’d rather she just speak her mind.

“ ...If _this_ is your attitude toward teaching, that’s what’s going to show in your efforts as opposed to how fabulous you actually are.”

I know I needed to hear it, but it doesn’t sting any less. “I’m not making much sense then, am I? Perhaps being so committed to my passion wasn’t the brightest idea.”

Perking up, Grace asks me suddenly, “What made you choose the violin over ballet?”

As unanticipated as her question is, I’m not entirely taken aback by it. She’s consistently honest with me; why wouldn’t I be with her? “Quitting ballet wasn’t an easy decision to make. It taught me a great deal about embracing hard work with a smile and making room for continual improvement.”

“Of course. I remember how hesitant you were to tell me during one of our classes that it would be your last one for fear of disappointing me. Allow me to rephrase my question: do you ever have regrets?”

I clasp my hands together on the table. “Sometimes, yes. But music has been my life practically since birth. Watching you come into your own as a performer is one of the most rewarding parts of being your friend, and I want to bring my own meaning to the violin through all these experiences and touch others’ lives in that same way.”

“Do you know that you’ve almost thoroughly addressed your own fears?” Her expressions resemble Mama’s when we spoke earlier.

“How do you mean?”

“You’re not necessarily fond like this word, but _competition_ exists. Do remember Yoko: first impressions decide your fate, and the reality is you don’t have time to think about any weaknesses you think you have. Not to mention, there’s also university to consider, and sushi making obviously isn’t going to ease those costs.”

My thoughts go to Mama as I nibble on a macaroon. Grace is right: if I’m to keep on with lessening this financial burden as much as possible, I’ll have to change my priorities and be more assertive in my endeavours. Besides, I could stand to book more weddings...

Grace seems to realize the cogs turning in my head, because she’s drinking tea with contentment in her eyes. Nodding, she asks, “Have you spoken to Timothy at all? Recalling your comment about outside contact, I imagine no.”

Yet another reason to feel guilty. I shake my head slowly. “I should call him when I come home. It’s admittedly strange not speaking with him for more than a day or two, but we can’t help what our lives are becoming sometimes.”

“He’ll understand.” Grace shrugs in agreement. “His volunteer work at the fire department probably keeps him very busy as well.”

It’s true; Timothy wants to become a firefighter and found a volunteer opportunity through his high school that functions as an accelerated program. Aside from all the exams he has to prepare for and duties to perform, he has to maintain his excellent grades and attendance at school in order to stay in the program.

Unconcerned, I lift my chin up. “It’ll be worth it. He was born to help people and never ceases to give his all in everything he does.”

“That goes without saying,” Grace replies, and adds with a wink, “the same applies to you.” Her comment earns a thankful smile from me.

And with that topic shelved away, we spend the rest of our tea retreat catching up on what everyone else from Hilltop has been doing and using our extra paper napkins for origami. We giggle when Grace tells me how Claude challenged her to a tennis rematch next week that she’s sure to win. It may sound off-putting to some, but I admire her fire.

Calling upon a nearby waiter for the bill, Grace insists she pay despite my protests, as I am “her dear invitee”. The manager, who just happens to be passing by, is charmed by our artistic creations and enlists our help in hanging them around the cashier area to serve as decorations prior to our leave.

The time is near to conclude this rendezvous. But while we’re ambling out, I’m prompted by an idea. “Grace, what do you say we dance _un petit pas de deux_ for old times’ sake? I think I’ve still got it.” I extend her a hand the way a premier danseur noble would a prima ballerina.

She notes my confidence with an endearing chuckle. “Why my good lady, you’ve made an offer I simply cannot refuse.”

Our impromptu sidewalk performance attracts quite the audience. Some stare in awe, others in disbelief. But I’m having far too much fun to take any heed either way.

...

Mama was right; what a difference seeing Grace has made for my mood. If I could arrange a last-minute concert performing everything from Charles Dancla’s repertoire to Niccolo Paganini’s, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I won’t get ahead of myself, however. There’s a very important phone call I have to make. As soon as my house comes into sight, I feel myself pedaling even faster.

The screeching halt happens too fast for me to register that I could’ve been flung off my bike. I see a familiar bike parked on our lawn next to the driveway.

Eyes astonished, I smile in disbelief. “There’s no way...”

Practically throwing my own bike and gear on the lawn, I hurry toward the door and fidget with my key to get in.

No matter how silly it is bursting in like this, I can’t help prolonging the momentum. “Mama...?” I call to her with curious excitement.

“We’re in here, cherry blossom.” Her voice sings to me from the kitchen.

_We...? _

My entrance to the kitchen feels like an admixture of dubious tiptoeing and impatient frolicking. But I’m too stunned to laugh at myself when I see our visitor with my own eyes, standing up from a chair in welcome.

“It’s been a while, Yoko!”

There he is. It’s Timothy, my lifelong best friend.

Whether I’m laughing or crying now, I sincerely can’t tell. “I was going to call you the moment I got here...I’m so sorry...”

“Aw, you don’t have to apologise! This week took no prisoners, that’s for sure.” He assures me as he circles the table toward me. I gasp happily when he lifts me up and spins me around in circles before pulling me into a hug.

_The warmest of hugs..._

“Oh, and before I forget,” Timothy adds, walking back to the table, “these are for you.” He scoops up a bouquet of flowers and hands them to me. “Lily helped me arrange them at her shop. Says they’re Peruvian lilies that needs tons of water to last you a good two weeks in a vase. Hope you like ‘em!”

_A beautiful bouquet...a symbol of our friendship..._

“Of course I do, almost as much as having you here!” I bring an arm around his neck while holding the bouquet in the other. “I can’t thank you – and Lily – enough for going through the trouble.”

It’s Mama’s turn to speak. “That’s not all, my little blossom.” Beckoning me toward two baskets on the table, she continues, “Timothy and I prepared a surprise picnic for the two of you.” Peeking inside, I discover peanut butter and honey sandwiches, rei-shabu, and vanilla sponge cake.

“It was so fun and relaxing,” Timothy pipes up. “Time spent with you both is a gift between the jobs and the books.”

Amidst my bliss, I glance at Mama; a simple wink is her reply. It’s all I need. “You are nothing short of an extraordinary pair.” Turning to Timothy, I ask eagerly, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a _surprise_ picnic, remember? I will give you a hint though: you’ll need your violin.” He pulls up a large bag that looks similar to a violin case from under the table. “Fritz and I created this makeshift backpack of sorts for it a few weeks ago. I can carry it on my back while we’re riding. Don’t worry, we tested it on a used violin beforehand.”

_Leave it to budding professor Fritz to save the day with his inventions. _I think to myself, grinning. “What _haven’t_ you thought of?” Again, my eye is on Mama. “Clearly a lot of planning went into this.”

I’m met with that gratified shrug again. She’s thrilled by my lightened mood. “You two better get a move on. Sunset has just begun, but you’ll need plenty of rest tonight for your exams. Yoko, fetch your violin, and I’ll be outside to help you install these baskets on your bikes.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Timothy bounces humorously into solider position, meriting a chortle from us. I follow suit, naturally.

Fortunately I don’t have to waste any time unzipping my case. I’m raring for another adventure.

...

What a marvel it is for a thought to come full circle. Timothy leads the way to Hilltop; my vision soars with brilliant colours that seem to accentuate the deepening peach sky up ahead. Realizing where they’re coming from, I point to their source in wonderment. “Oh Timothy, it’s the Music Tree!”

Approaching it, we find lanterns of all shapes and sizes hanging on its branches. “The kids must be learning about light sources in class. Fritz would be proud.” Timothy says, before nodding his head toward what is now my new backpack. “They may have replaced the instruments, but we only call for one to make this scene even more awesome.”

But before we start setting up our picnic, I freeze. “Oh, but Timothy, I forgot to take my music sheets with us...”

“C’mon, you didn’t need ‘em the first time. I want you to play from your heart.”

_Your heart... _Mama’s words are echoing. “Timothy...”

“While you were gone, your mom told me about your concerns. You’re more than just a wedding musician, Yoko, and you know it.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Whether you’re touring with orchestras or teaching little ones the basics, the important thing is that you put yourself out there and never give up.”

I squeeze his hand in return. “As a child, I said I could do anything I want. I just have to make sure I don’t lose myself in the process.”

“Exactly! Get creative and show your enthusiasm. Who knows what’ll happen? That’s the best part. Anyone who isn’t on board will miss out on what you come up with.” Timothy unshoulders the backpack, opens it, and retrieves my violin. “But right now, the real loser is the Music Tree because it’s not hearing you play!”

None of my practice pieces come to mind when I perform in front of the Tree. Instead, my fingers recollect the notes to Mrs. Jenkins’ "Welcome Song" – the one our class would sing every morning before the day began. Warmed by nostalgia, Timothy sings along:

_“Gather 'round and sit right down_

_Doesn't matter who you're next to_

_We're a lot the same, but with different names_

_And there's so many things that we're gonna do_

_You might feel a little bit shy_

_But we all feel that way sometimes_

_It's a new adventure_

_It's a brand new day_

_Anything can happen when we laugh and we play_

_Welcome to this brand new day”_

Fond memories with my beloved companions rush through my mind during the song, and I’m struck by an idea that Timothy is sure to love: we’ll host a pirate-themed party on our old “Friend Ship” tomorrow night with Lily, Charles, and Juanita. Locating props will be the real journey, though that’s hardly an issue.

And while I’m at it, I think I’ll pay Mrs. Jenkins a visit after my Saturday shift. No matter what happens tomorrow, I’ll come to her with a bright plan for my future.


End file.
